


Garter belts, stockings, and frills

by Apuzzlingprince



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Crossdressing, M/M, dominant!Fiddleford
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-31
Updated: 2015-08-31
Packaged: 2018-04-18 06:04:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4694858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apuzzlingprince/pseuds/Apuzzlingprince
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fiddleford stumbles upon Stanley in a rather compromising position.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Garter belts, stockings, and frills

Stanley ran his fingers over the garters stretched taut over his thighs, ensuring they were secure. He then checked the thin black stockings that were clinging nicely to his legs, and he took a private pleasure in sliding a thumb beneath the edging of each, smoothing out any creases. Once they were presentable, he wiggled his toes within the nylon and thrilled at the softness of the fabric they were encased in; it was nothing like anything he had ever worn before. Not as coarse as his jeans and trousers, and softer still than anything else found in his wardrobe. He licked his lips, adjusting some frilly panties until they were snug around his hips before he glanced to the full body mirror he’d dragged into his lounge room.

Stanley had known he would look good, but he was surprised by just how much he enjoyed the sight of himself in women’s lingerie.   

The way the light glided down the side of his leg was entrancing. He turned in a circle a couple of times to watch the way it moved over his curves, and then glanced furtively around and flushed despite being alone. It wasn’t often that he indulged in things like this. His father’s hyper masculine upbringing had brought a halt to his escapades with women’s clothing long before it could become something he did with any regularity. It’d given him the habit of glancing over his shoulder whenever he chanced wearing the clothes he wanted to wear, as if expecting his father to walk through the door and discover him in much the same way he had when he’d been a child. His father hadn’t let him choose his own outfits for _weeks_ following that incident.

But his father was gone. Ford was gone. His mother probably would have been indifferent to his ‘activities’, but she was gone, too.  It was just him and the body sized mirror he’d found in a storage closet. 

And he was especially glad for that when he cupped a hand over his crotch, finding it large and heavy in his palm. The front of his panties had become stained with pre-come. He didn’t typically find this arousing, but it’d been such a long time since he’d had the opportunity to indulge in lingerie, and damn, did he look good in it. His arousal swelled as he ran his fingers down over and bulge and inside each thigh, careful not to tear the fabric as he went. 

Maybe he’d jerk off a little while he was here, just to get it out of the way. It was a nice, warm summer’s afternoon, so afterwards he could languish on his couch for a few hours and enjoy the feeling of the nylon on his skin as he watched his mid-day programs. The shack was closed today. He didn’t have to worry about a customer coming bursting in asking if the rock that looked like a face was actually a face that looked like a rock, or a metaphor, or something equally as stupid.

He was slow to work himself up to the main event. Spreading his fingers over his thighs, squeezing the skin before sliding his hands around to his buttocks and slipping his fingers beneath the frills, dragging his nails over the skin beneath. His breathing became slow and his eyelids heavy. If he moved his knuckles past the edging, he’d be able to glide a finger down between his ass cheeks and-

“Stanley! Stanley! I haven’t seen you all day, are you okay?!”

Stanley yelped and staggered away from the sound, feeling around on the nearest surface – the couch – for something he could cover himself with.  
Crazy ‘I’m not allowed to drive anymore because I keep on crashing into things’ McGucket had burst in through the kitchen. He really should have rethought giving him a key. Granted, he’d assumed he would have a few months of peace before McGucket’s self-inflicted dementia and insanity escalated. 

“Stan… what…?” 

That was one sure way to kill an erection. Stanley ground his molars against the urge to snarl and snap at McGucket; the man was already unstable, and he didn’t want to make it worse by further upsetting him. He covered his family jewels with his hands and reluctantly turned.

“I’m kinda- this is kinda private, Mcgucket. Christ, don’t you know how to knock?” He kept his voice as level as he could.

Fiddleford was staring at him with an inexplicable sort of intensity. It made heat rise to Stanley’s cheeks in a way that had nothing to do with arousal. He was embarrassed. This was nowhere near as bad as the time his father had walked on him trying out women’s clothing, but he’d had the benefit of a full outfit when that had happened. Right now, almost everything was on show. His hands could cover his crotch, but they couldn’t cover his legs or the frills or the way his muscles had tensed in mortification.

Fiddleford shifted in place, and that was when Stan noticed the tent forming in his tan trousers. 

_Oh_.

He looked from Fiddleford’s crotch, to his face, which was still unabashedly staring, but dusted with pink. “Uh, Fids…?” He spoke incredulously, hoping the tone of his voice would encourage Fiddleford to leave. 

“S-sorry,” Fiddleford suddenly stammered. He didn’t look away, but he did hunch his shoulder in shame. “God, Stanley, I just – y’look _so good_ ,” the last words came out in a choked whisper. 

Of all things, Stanley felt flattered. He associated his wearing feminine clothing with shame, and this was the first time anyone had ever suggested it could be something to be proud of.  

“Oh, uh,” he began uncertainly. His hands were still folded over his crotch to obscure his only semi-flaccid cock from view. The mere mention of someone other than himself enjoying the view had caused it to stir. “Thanks…?”

Fiddleford visibly hesitated before he spoke again. He glanced briefly to the nearest exit. “Do you need any help taking it off? Or if you want to keep them on, and have me - I- I – I mean, I understand if you don’t. Just- Christ…“ He exhaled hard enough to make his body slump even further. “I don’t usually proposition people I walk in on, but you look too good not to.”

“Oh geeze.” Stanley shifted from foot to foot, considering this offer. He had never been intimate with a man before, and he was nervous. He’d thought about it, had a few close-calls in prison, but nothing beyond that. He liked to think of himself as firmly hetrosexual. It was what his dad had insisted upon.

But then, Dad wasn’t here to tell him that what he was doing was ‘disgusting’ or ‘unnatural’, was he? Nor was anyone else who would have disapproved. He was twenty eight –it was about time he got over his reservations and just did what he wanted to do. And what he wanted was for Fiddleford to touch his thighs with those long dexterous fingers of his. 

“Okay,” he said, licking his lips. “Go for it.”

The speed at which FIddleford approached surprised him. With his consent, Fiddleford’s earlier reservations seemed to have disappeared; this clearly wasn’t his first time with a dude. He gently pushed Stanley down onto the couch and dropped to his knees before him, smiling toothily up at him. Even with bagged eyes and a fine layer of fuzz on his cheeks and jaw, he looked incredibly handsome. Stanley swallowed hard. With how small and wiry Fiddleford was, it was easy to forget he was the older and more experienced of them.

The way he so slowly ran his palms from Stanley’s ankles to his knees had Stanley pressing the back of his wrist to his mouth to silence the embarrassing little sounds that rose up from his throat. It felt even better to have hands that weren’t his own feeling their way up his stockings. 

“No,” he heard Fiddleford say, and then his wrist was being pulled away. He looked down at Fiddleford, who continued in a surprisingly firm, authoritative voice, “There isn’t anything that’s going to come out of your mouth I haven’t heard before, darlin’. This isn’t my first rodeo. You don’t need to be embarrassed.”

“I’m not-“ Stanley began, but they both knew it was a lie. He opted to set his hands on Fiddleford’s shoulders instead, to show he wasn’t some swooning maiden – even if he was wearing stockings and frilly panties right now. “Fine,” he scoffed. “How ‘bout you make things more interesting, then? Because right now I’m not exactly feeling like screaming your—WHAO!”

Fiddleford had obliged before he could even finish. He had his face buried between his legs, his mouth pressed firmly to the inside of a thigh and licking wet lines into the fabric there. Stanley jolted as he gently closed his teeth around a particularly thick part of flesh, soft enough not to tear the stocking, but hard enough that it hurt in an absolutely delectable way. He dropped back against the couch and let his eyes roll up towards the ceiling. His hands were periodically clenching around Fiddleford’s thin shoulders.

Those lips and teeth trailed to the crease between his thigh and crotch and Stanley stiffened in anticipation, eager to have that warm mouth envelop his cock. But it didn’t. Fiddleford instead leaned over his lap and pinched his fingers around the bulge there, eliciting a cry of surprise. They traced the outline of his erection, pulsing and needy as Fiddleford reached his other hand around to the back of Stanley’s panties, delving beneath them to squeeze at the clef of his ass. His hips involuntarily jerked. When Fiddleford chuckled at this, Stanley swore at him under his breath.

“I heard that,” Fiddleford murmured. A punishing squeeze was applied to the head of his cock and Stanley let out a squeak that wasn’t in the least bit manly. Drat. Fiddleford was absolutely wrecking the tough guy image he had constructed. Granted, he had been the one to put on the lingerie in the first place.

He let his chin drop to his collarbones and was greeted by the sight of Fiddleford grinning lewdly up at him. That had him turning away pretty damn quick. He’d looked downright lecherous, an expression he’d never before seen or expected to see on Fiddleford’s face. The person he was beneath the sheets, so to speak, was incongruous with the mild-mannered, easily frightened engineer he had come to know. 

His thoughts disintegrated when Fiddleford’s lips traveled to his erection, mouthing it through the fabric. Stanley took in short, stuttering breaths and squeezed his eyes shut, struggling to hold back the urge to jerk his lips. He mutedly longed Fiddleford to pull those panties low enough to take his cock deep into his throat. If Fiddleford kept this up, he’d end up coming before they even reached the main event. 

“Shit, Fids, come on.” He gave Fiddleford’s jacket needy little tugs. There was another one of his melodious laughs, and he peeled the panties to the side. But he didn’t release Stanley’s cock from beneath the frilled panties. After wetting his fingers with spit, he slid two into him. 

“Fuck!” Stanley thrashed back, bellowing at the ceiling. “What the hell- that feels so fucking-“

“Good?” Fidleford offered in a low, husky voice. He pressed in deeper, and the tightness was fucking amazing.

Stanley had to swallow hard to wet his throat before he could respond. “Y-yeah, Jesus…”

The arm wrapped around his waist lifted him up just enough to enable Fiddleford to insert another finger. Three, and they were moving slowly in and out, working the tight ring of muscle into relaxing. Stanley threw a leg over Fiddleford’s shoulder to give him better access, and was jostled in place when Fiddleford used the hand that wasn’t occupied to throw the other one over. The fingers curled in, and Stanley moaned- one long keening note that echoed off the walls.   
Christ, what he must look like right now. Moaning wantonly while dressed in stockings and frilly panties, with his legs over the shoulders of another man who had three fingers deep in his ass and was slowly pressed in a forth. 

He was shivering. He hadn’t been able to stop since it’d started. Maybe that meant he was close, though he’d never before shivered before climax. Involuntarily jerked his hips and twitched, but that was it.

Then again, he could count the number of girls he’d slept with on one hand – actually, he could do it on one finger, and sex with Carla had been great, but a little underwhelming and awkward. First times usually were. As were second and third times. He wasn’t exactly surprised that they’d broken up, now that he thought about it. 

The fingers was abruptly removed. He gasped, throwing his head back and fisting his hands in Fiddleford’s jacket. Good Christ, he hoped Fiddleford put them back in and did that again, because the friction had been amazing. He opened his mouth to suggest exactly that, and he didn’t manage to get out any words as Fiddleford had reared up to cover it with his own. Fiddleford licked at his bottom lip, before descending to bite a wet pink ring into Stanley’s neck. Down, lower, he rolled a nipple with his tongue, and Stanley whimpered; fuck, everything Fiddleford was doing was amazing. He was so dizzy he could barely keep track of Fiddleford’s mouth and he was only distantly aware of the sound of metallic clinking.

Fiddleford had unbuckled his belt. His pants were bunched around his thigh and the leathery head of another man’s cock was warm against his inner thigh. Fiddleford’s nimble fingers pulled his panties aside, and Fiddleford mumbled into his chest, “Don’t clench”, before he slid right in to the hilt.

A slew of swearwords ripped from his throat. He curled his arms around Fiddleford, hugging him close and shivering even harder as he pulled out painstakingly slow, and then thrust back in, sending a brilliant combination of pain and pleasure streaking from his ass to his dick. He wasn’t going to last much longer. A couple more thrusts, and that dark patch on the front of his panties was going to grow substantially.

His breathing was fast and irregular on Fiddleford’s neck. Sweat had developed on his skin, and a droplet slid from his forehead to his chin, dropping off to soak into Fiddleford’s disheveled hair. Beneath Fiddleford, Stanley moved all four of his limbs, curling his toes and fingers in an attempt to find some purchase, to make his head stop spinning. When Fiddlefore groaned, pulled out, and thrust in once more, his engorged cock pressed right up against a magical area in Stanley’s ass he’d never even known existed. He saw white and screamed. His hips lifted unconsciously, his ass tightened around Fiddleford’s cock, and the pleasure was so intense he didn’t even notice both of them had ejaculated until his panties became so slippery with it that he could feel the cum sliding down the side of his leg. 

Exhausted, Stanley couldn’t even be bothered removing his soiled panties and stockings. He lay back with Fiddleford still buried deep inside of him. 

“You don’t think we’re done yet, do you?” Fiddleford asked, low and exhausted himself, but grinning in a way that suggested this was far from the last time he intended to fuck Stanley tonight. Stanley’s cock jumped to attention.

“Hey, I’ve the stamina of an ox. You’re gonna wear out long before I do.”

“Yeah? I’ll hold you to that.”


End file.
